Is It Here Yet?

It seems too good to be true. I've been standing outdoors in my shirt-sleeves for five minutes and I have no symptoms of hypothermia. Could it be that spring is finally here?

As if on cue, a pair of girls in jogging gear go past. Of course the sight of a jogger doesn't prove that it's warm outdoors. I've seen people out running in weather that I wouldn't bother to drive in. But the girls that I see in front of me right now look like casual exercisers, not the beady-eyed obsessives who run through blizzards and guzzle protein shakes.

I've seen enough. I must pull on my own running shoes and test the air.

And by golly, it is warm today! A couple of kids have set up a stall in their front lawn and under the watchful eyes of their parents they offer me a refreshing drink for 50 cents. Inflation has come a long way since I was their age; I can remember looking at comic book versions of this same scene where a glass of lemonade would set you back only 5 cents. In any case, it's too soon to stop so I politely decline their offer. And silently I wish them luck in this entrepreneurial venture. (Should I tell them that they could probably sell an organic version of their drink for a dollar?)

The neighbourhood is suddenly swarming with children on bicycles. They've been hibernating for the past six months and now the rising temperature has made them stir and step out squinting into the sunlight. They don't squint for long. With a whoop and shouted encouragements to each other they pedal jauntily away in a loud and harmless pack.

It's good to hear my feet softly pound on the ground again. It's good to work up a sweat with the sun on my back. It's good to huff and puff my way home and hungrily quaff a big glass of cold milk.

An hour later I'm in Harvard Square. A band plays blues in the background as I stretch out on the grass and catch up with a couple of friends. We're warm-blooded creatures, the three of us, and we tell each other excitedly how glad we are for this lovely day. We let the sunlight seep into us as we sip coffee. We exchange notes on what we've been up to over the past few months. My jacket lies next to me, unneeded.

But then dusk falls to remind us that we're still in New England and it's still only March. Our chatter slows as we stiffly pull ourselves to our feet, realizing that for some time now a chill had been soaking up through the ground we were sitting on.

No matter. We walk together a little distance, enjoying each other's company for just a bit longer. Spring is in our steps, whether or not it is in the air.